Enemy of Rome

XXV

They caught up with the leading elements of the Seventh Galbiana three miles from Cremona. The terrain became more accommodating the closer they came to the city, and the men of the Seventh marched over firm ground to avoid the chaos on the road. Wreckage from enemy baggage trains, abandoned weapons and the discarded belongings of camp followers obstructed the causeway. Valerius noticed a new spirit of confidence in his legionaries. Already exhilarated by the fumes of what had seemed an unlikely victory, the sight of their foes’ retreating backs gave new energy to weary legs. They knew they’d achieved something remarkable and they sensed that one last effort would bring them ultimate victory and never to be forgotten glory. They were eager to finish the job.

Marcus Antonius Primus halted his army just short of the city. In the commander’s headquarters tent Valerius struggled to keep his eyes open as the other legates gathered. For him, battle had always been a place where danger and proximity to death seemed to multiply the living essence. Sometimes when he fought, Valerius swore he could have called Mars kin, but he had a feeling this battle had taken a toll like no other; a diminishing of self as if an inner fire was dying. Primus was as tired as any of his soldiers, the very flesh seeming to hang wearily from the bones of his face. Yet despite days in the saddle, the general’s eyes radiated a messianic zeal that no amount of exhaustion could extinguish.

‘Our scouts report the enemy has strengthened his defences immeasurably in the past few weeks.’ Primus addressed the legates of his five legions around a hastily fashioned sand table modelled to produce a crude likeness of Cremona and its surroundings. ‘They have expanded the ring of camps around the city, added lines of palisades and ditches here, here and here,’ he leaned across and pointed to a series of scores to the east of the city, ‘and filled them with the usual horrors. Sixteen towers dominate the most vulnerable stretches, armed alternately with scorpiones and onagri, and sited to provide crossing fire. We will undoubtedly face heavy catapults of the kind the Seventh’ — Valerius acknowledged his bow — ‘dealt with so efficiently, but they will be more difficult to reach.’ For a moment the general’s voice faltered and he looked to each of the men in the tent as if trying to draw strength from them. Eventually, he shook his head and found the will to continue. ‘Altogether a formidable obstacle, gentlemen. True, these entrenchments will be filled by legions who have been thinned by our efforts, but they will fight, and it is clear we must oblige them. The question is how?’

‘My men are exhausted.’ Every eye turned to Numisius Lupus, commander of Eighth Augusta. ‘I do not say that they cannot fight,’ he explained hastily. ‘They see their enemy and itch to be at him so I must struggle to control their enthusiasm.’ His words were greeted with a murmur of accord from commanders who had experienced the same eagerness. ‘My doubt is whether they have the strength, or the will, to entrench a camp of our own, and create suitable defences against an enemy capable of sortieing from Cremona to destroy us while we dig.’

‘You think we should besiege the city?’ Primus asked quietly.

Lupus’s eyes showed consternation. ‘Do we have any other choice?’

‘Certainly we have choices,’ Vedius Aquila interjected impatiently, ‘unpalatable though they be. We could withdraw to Bedriacum and recover our strength while we await reinforcements from Syria.’

‘And throw away everything we have won?’ Primus’s tone was mild enough, but the Thirteenth’s legate bridled defensively at the implication of defeatism.

‘I am speaking hypothetically, of course,’ he growled. ‘A mere listing of the options. But what is the alternative to siege or withdrawal? It would be folly to attack Cremona with exhausted troops. We would need every man to assault these walls, with not even a few thousand ragged Praetorians in reserve.’

‘Folly perhaps,’ Primus conceded. ‘But I believe it is our only option.’

The tent went very still, and Valerius was reminded of the depthless silence of an African night.

Primus turned to him. ‘You think me impulsive, Gaius Valerius Verrens? No,’ he raised a hand, ‘do not deny it.’ A smile flickered on his thin lips. ‘It is true that my impetuousness has brought us here, to the brink of victory or defeat, depending on your point of view. But my belief is based not on my desire to close with the enemy, but on the facts as I see them.’ He frowned and bowed his head as if he were considering those facts; lining them up, then repositioning them like a carpenter contemplating the best way to approach a complex piece of work. Eventually, he had them where he wanted them and he looked up to meet his subordinates’ doubting eyes. ‘Time is running short, but I will outline my reasoning. We cannot starve the defenders without starving ourselves. Our foraging parties range far and wide between the mountains and the sea and still return empty-handed, because our enemy has prudently stripped the countryside to provision the city. To eat, we must first fight. You say your soldiers are exhausted, Numisius? I agree. They are approaching the very limits of their endurance. Yet their howls for the blood of the Vitellians remain undiminished. My question is not can we fight but can we afford not to fight? It is they — our soldiers — even more than I, who have driven us here. It is you, the legates of my legions, who have lost control of them. If I ordered these men to return to Bedriacum they would like as not cry “traitor” and kill me, and you too, Aquila.’ He shook his head. ‘It would be folly to attack at these odds? No, it would be folly to waste their precious energy digging ditches. They have one last fight in them. We must make the best use of it. My message to your soldiers is this: you are hungry? Cremona is our granary. Take Cremona and you will eat your fill — aye, and a surfeit of loot and women too. You are sick of civil war? Then finish it. Here and now. One cast of the dice. One final effort. For Rome and Vespasian.’

‘For Rome and Vespasian!’ The four legates echoed his words and Valerius was astonished at the change Primus had wrought since they entered the tent. Then, they had looked like defeated men despite their recent victory, cowed by the odds facing them and the seemingly insurmountable logistical problems that plagued their legions. Yet in one brief piece of genius their commander had negated their concerns. The facts remained unchanged, but the situation was entirely different. He had shown them that only a single course of action was open to them. The decision was no longer theirs. The men wanted to be at their enemy and nothing would change their minds. If they wanted to fight they must be given their wish.

‘Your orders, general?’

Primus smiled grimly. ‘We will pause only long enough to allow the artillery to come up, and to furnish the engineers with sufficient siege equipment to make the assault practicable. Aquila? Your eager Thirteenth are furthest forward as always. When you are ready, array them before the Brixia gate and tempt them with what lies within. Fulvus and Verrens? Third Gallica and Seventh Galbiana will concentrate on the eastern defences to the south of the causeway. Eighth Augusta and Seventh Claudia will invest the walls on the northern side. Varus?’ He called his cavalry commander forward. ‘Take ten squadrons and five cohorts of auxilia and come at them from the west. It is a feint, no more, but you must appear dangerous enough to keep their attention. Do you understand?’ Varus nodded, the knowledge that he still had much to prove written plain on his face.

The commanders filed out, but Valerius held back. Primus looked up from the sand table. ‘You still have concerns, Verrens?’

Valerius hesitated. ‘You outlined the situation admirably, general. Win, or die trying. What could be clearer? The kind of simple command a soldier likes.’ Primus’s eyes took on a dangerous look: was he being mocked? But Valerius ignored the threat. ‘My concern is with Cremona. It was my impression that the Emperor’s express wish was that no harm should come to the populace unless they took up arms directly against him.’ He pointed to the table. ‘It appears the defence of Cremona is entirely in the hands of Vitellian legions who gave the people of the city no chance to flee.’

‘And I am encouraging my soldiers to treat them as enemies?’

‘It is …’

The colour rose in Primus’s cheeks. ‘You are wearing your lawyer’s cloak again, or perhaps your friend Titus is using you as a mouthpiece. Is that it? I could dismiss your concerns with a single lawyerly word: semantics. The people of Cremona supported Aulus Vitellius from the first. They fed, armed and aided his soldiers. Have they taken up arms directly against the forces of Titus Flavius Vespasian? I do not know. But I also do not know they have not.’ He sighed, and his voice lost its certainty. ‘But that is not the issue here. Not even the fate of thousands of …’ a shrug of what, impatience? Regret? ‘Very well, let us call them innocents. The issue is victory and saving perhaps hundreds of thousands of lives by ending this war now. My legions are tired, Valerius. Yes, they have one last fight in them. If I thought they did not I would not attempt this whether their blood was up or no. But strength and will can only take them so far. They need something more tangible than a cause to fight for. Something real. The storehouses of Cremona and the hunger in their bellies are real. The answer to everything lies beyond those ramparts and palisades and walls, and they will take them or die in the attempt. If they succeed have I the right to snatch the fruits of victory away from them?’ He met Valerius’s eye. ‘I promise you that if there is another option, I will take it. That must be enough for you. Cremona is the tethered goat to attract the wolf, Valerius, and the truth is that without that lure I fear my legions may not be strong enough to take the city.’

He turned back to the mound of papers on his campaign desk and Valerius saluted, knowing there was nothing else to say. Cremona was the goat to attract the wolf? Serpentius would tell him that things seldom turned out well for the goat.